


As They Kept Falling the Way Leaves Do

by cm (mumblemutter)



Category: The Last Unicorn (1982), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Community: secret_mutant, M/M, Unicorns, Virginity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-08
Updated: 2012-01-08
Packaged: 2017-10-29 04:54:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/316050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mumblemutter/pseuds/cm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles saves Erik.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As They Kept Falling the Way Leaves Do

**Author's Note:**

  * For [abbichicken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/abbichicken/gifts).



  
_what we'd forgotten -_   


 

The unicorn is skittish, and suspicious, and speaks a strange, halting English in a manner that suggests that the language isn't just alien but that he considers it beneath him. "Erik," he says flatly, pointing at himself before he returns to staring at his hands as if he could wish them away.

"Where did you get that from," Charles asks. "Is it translated from - do you speak a language."

Erik just blinks slowly, as if he's said something incredibly stupid. "I have - name. You won't." He pauses. "Erik."

"Yes, I heard you the first time." Charles decides not to ask any more questions. At least not until he can get Erik into some clothes. "My name is Charles, by the way." He tries to drape his cloak around his shoulders, but Erik just shies away from him, and eventually Charles wraps it around his own shoulders and then hands it to him. "I am just trying to help. Let me help." Erik seems for a moment as if he's going to just drop the cloak to the ground, but finally he imitates Charles. His movements as he slides the material around him are awkward and yet still fitted with a strange sort of grace.

Charles touches the mark in-between Erik's eyes, red and raised and vaguely diamond-shaped. Erik rears back. "Stop," he says, and it's also the first thing he said when Charles had turned him, when he'd stumbled on legs that were suddenly awkward and weak, not made for thundering over miles of hard ground without protection. "No," was the second thing he said, on his knees, when Charles tried to comfort him, tried to say, "It's for your own protection. It's the only way I can hide you from Shaw."

They say that a unicorn's eyes are filled with wonder, with beauty beyond belief.

This unicorn's eyes show nothing but loss.

"I can't - I can't. Turn back, please." Low, and horrified.

Charles says, "I'm sorry," and Erik starts to weep.

-

The night approaches and Charles seeks out shelter for the two of them in a small cave off the main path. He's exhausted most of his magic turning the unicorn but he manages, with some difficulty, to build a small fire to keep them warm.

Erik stares intently at his reflection in a nearby stream. Charles says, "Erik, come," but Erik only looks at him as he doesn't understand and turns his attention back to his face.

"Ugly," Charles thinks he mutters, screwing up his face and baring his teeth.

"We should rest," Charles tries to say. Erik glances at the cave but doesn't seem to be able to comprehend its purpose. He points to a patch of grass underneath a tree. "Yes, that's fine if you're a unicorn," Charles tells him, then pauses. He lowers his voice, buries his exasperation. "But this body you have now. Requires protection from the elements."

Erik wraps the cloak more securely around him and slouches into the cave, ducking his head and sitting down with his legs drawn to his chest.

Charles follows him in, says, "It is only for the night. My home is near. If we leave at dawn we should be there by sundown."

Erik continues to look unconvinced, and mutters, "Imperfect." He raises his hands in front of him and turns them back and forth, then closes his fists and opens them once more.

"Yes, I suppose we are, compared to you."

Erik only puts his forehead to his knees and shudders, grief shrouding him like the cloak.

-

The Snow Queen said, "Keep him hidden, keep him safe."

-

Charles doesn't sleep, afraid that Shaw will find them while he is weak and without reserves. Erik's hair has fallen in front of his forehead in his slumber, his breathing harsh and shallow as he twists unconsciously in a dream that does not seem pleasant. Charles reaches out and brushes it out of his forehead. It feels like hair. Entirely human. Charles isn't quite sure why he was expecting something else. Like this, he can take a closer look at Erik's features, his square jaw and his high cheekbones and - Charles does not know how the transformation spell works, exactly, but there is something quite extraordinarily beautiful about him, despite Erik's own opinion on the matter.

Erik's eyes open.

He opens his mouth but he doesn't say anything.

Charles shifts uncomfortably and avoids his gaze. "Sorry," he says. "I couldn't sleep."

-

The Snow Queen said, "Whichever way you can. He is our last hope."

-

In the morning Charles hands Erik his last piece of bread, carefully wrapped in cloth. "Eat," he says. "You need energy." But Erik only stares at it, unwilling to move. Charles tears a piece off and puts it to his own mouth, mimes chewing. "Eat."

Reluctantly, Erik follows suit. He swallows down the bread and then makes another face.

"Not good?"

Erik shakes his head, and Charles laughs slightly when he reaches down and pulls out a handful of grass, displays it to Charles. "Food."

"I don't think so, Erik. Not anymore. Come along, then. We have a long ways to walk before we reach home."

"Home?" Erik asks, and he glances behind him, deep into the forest, hopeful and hesitant.

"No, not that way, I'm afraid."

When Erik only continues to look back, Charles tucks his cloak more securely around him and finally Erik says, "Go. Safe."

"Yes," Charles says, and he smiles. "Safe."

-

They reach Charles' home at nightfall, Erik trudging silently next to him.

Charles leads him to Raven's room, filled with all a girl could want until she decided she didn't want any of it anymore, and sits him down on the four poster bed. "Sleep," he says.

Erik stares blankly at him.

"This is your room. You'll be safe here."

He wanders to the window instead, stares outside into the grounds that line the property and the woods further beyond. "Safe," he parrots.

"That is the idea, yes," Charles says. "Sleep. It's been a long day. Sleep."

 

  
_\- is our own inconsequence_   


 

Charles' life had always been uncomplicated, if not exactly simple. He had his books and he had his garden, and the magic that was breathed into him as an infant - crying and unaware as witch leaned over him and touched her cold finger to his heart, said, "This one will be powerful." That magic mostly lay dormant and untapped, used for magic tricks to entertain his sister, back when he still had one.

Then the war started, darkening all their days, and now he has a unicorn, trapped on grounds that he worries aren't secure enough. A unicorn who seems to want anything but Charles' help, on most days.

Charles tries, but even his patience wears thin, when Erik does nothing but wake in the morning and disappear into the outlying woods, barefoot and shirtless. He mostly ignores Charles' entreaties for him to stick closer to the house, "And at least put on some clothes, Erik," comes back cold and covered in dirt and sits at the kitchen table until Charles pushes a bowl of food in front of him.

"You'll have to use a spoon," Charles said, the first time, when Erik scowled at the bowl for a while before finally lifting it to his face and slurping the soup down unceremoniously. Erik continued to ignore him, choosing instead to rely on his hands and teeth.

No meat, only oats and vegetables and sometimes fruit: Charles roasts game one evening and Erik leaves the kitchen, remains unseen for the entire evening.

Cleaning is another nightmare; he does not like being dirty, but he is suspicious of the bathtub and the warm water Charles heats for him to perfection with a wave of simple magic. Charles doesn't look when Erik climbs into the tub, but when he only sits there and radiates disdain for a while Charles finally takes the soap and puts it to his body.

Erik stills, his breathing suddenly flat. "It's soap," Charles says, almost painfully conscious of his hand on the middle of Erik's spine as he pushes him forward gently to wash the dirt off his skin. "It's how we keep clean. You don't want to walk around reeking of the earth. Not that you do smell bad, or that anyone else but me is even around to, uh." Charles trails off as Erik wraps his arms around his raised knees and cants his head. "Straighten up," Charles says, keeping his tone light. He holds the soap out for Erik to take. "You'll have to wash your chest."

-

Autumn leads slowly into winter, and Charles hears little news of the war, not even from the Queen. He sends a message, wraps a ball of white mist with a question inside and watches it drift away, but there is no response.

"I don't suppose you know what is going on, do you," he asks Erik, who pauses in scratching at his face to tilt his head in Charles' direction. "Nevermind."

"I go," he says, because he has taken to informing Charles he's leaving nowadays, early in the morning when Charles is in the kitchen nursing a headache due to the previous night's wine. Charles will make him breakfast, milk and oats, and talk, and Erik will not respond but seems to be listening at least, most of the time.

"Maybe you could stay for a while," Charles says today, patting the chair next to him. "Stay, Erik."

"Why?"

"Because - you don't have to. I don't know." Charles has never felt lonely before, but now it's an ache, seeped into his bones, old and dry and brittle, and perhaps it's just that he'd gotten so used to it he'd stopped noticing its presence after Raven's departure. Months spent in solitude, with only the rare visits to the town to alleviate the boredom. "You don't have to stay," he repeats.

Erik sits down. "Sad," he says, pointing to Charles.

"No, I'm not. Well. I suppose I am."

"Sad," Erik says, pointing to himself.

-

An early winter storm strikes, without warning and deathly cold. Charles waits at the window and worries as the sun disappears behind dark clouds and heavy snow. Erik left early in the afternoon and there is no way to track him, not even with magic, not a being forged entirely of it.

So he waits, makes tea that goes cold and untouched, and boils soup that Erik will need when he returns. If he returns.

The door slams open and Charles starts awake, runs to Erik as he stumbles in, shivering and deathly pale. He's bleeding dark blood all over the hardwood floors as Charles bundles him up in warm blankets and leads him to the living room, to the hearth where the fire has been stoked high.

"Where are you bleeding," Charles asks, feeling Erik's bones to check for anything broken or bruised. It's an ugly piece of glass, embedded deep in the sole of his foot. "Just sit." He rushes to get some bandages and warm water, and when he returns Erik is slumped in the chair, ashen and tightly wound. "I need to pull out the glass," Charles says, settling down and gingerly taking ahold of one slim ankle. "This might hurt. Erik, do you understand?" Erik only nods his head and closes his eyes.

The glass is even uglier once pulled, glittering green and slick with blood. A bottle of some sort; kids tend to drift into the woods, even though they've heard rumors a witch lives there. Perhaps because they're heard rumors a witch lives there. Charles tries his best to stem the flow of blood, but it needs more magic than what he can achieve with needle and thread.

"Erik," Charles says, and at that Erik's head snaps up and his eyes open. They're still the color of the sea under a storm, unchanging despite the darkness of the night and the flickering of the fire. "Do you trust me?"

Unicorns are creatures of magic, and witches are supposed to protect the balance of nature. You turn a creature of magic into something forged from earth; ugly, Erik would say, and he's not far from wrong -

"I'm going to try and heal you," he says, and he's surprised at how strong his voice sounds, how sure. "I don't know if I'll succeed or not. Do you trust me?"

"Witch," Erik says, jerking as Charles places his hand over the still bleeding wound.

"Yes, but I broke a law. Do you trust me?" Faintly, Charles tugs on strings, searches out threads he'd broken when he'd shifted something that should never have been shifted. Mends them, with vine and hope, and slowly, oh so very slowly, the pulse spreads to his fingers and Erik's wound starts to close.

It's ugly, the heal. Not his finest work, not by a long shot. The scar is red and raised, but when Charles presses his thumb to it Erik barely flinches. Instead he flexes his toes with ease. "Better," he says softly.

"Yes, I suppose so," Charles replies, smiling. "Boots next time, Erik. And a winter coat." Erik shifts uneasily, but when Charles leans forward and cups his jaw with a hand still stained with blood, he nods.

-

That night, he slips into Erik's room to make sure he's still there. He stays at the doorway and watches as Erik's chest rises and falls, as he twitches and rubs at his face. Erik's less human, asleep. Charles ventures close, in case Erik is in the throes of a nightmare and needs to be woken up. But he's never frowning anymore, not when he's dreaming, and Charles' hand just hovers, an inch from his skin.

He finds himself, later on, with a strand of Erik's hair wrapped around a stick and a binding spell on the back of his tongue. He puts the stick away, hides it under his bed without casting the spell, but doesn't disassemble it and doesn't throw away the strand of hair.

-

Erik starts wearing the boots that Charles puts out for him whenever he ventures out. Sometimes he doesn't even shrug off the cloak that Charles wraps around his shoulders.

The gloves are a different story entirely. "Lost," Erik says, cheeks flushed pink as he holds out his hands for Charles to take.

"Third time this week," Charles informs him. "Perhaps if you stopped removing them they would cease to keep disappearing."

"Mhm," Erik says. He drifts closer to Charles, curls his body inwards.

Charles holds Erik's hands to his chest to warm them up before he sighs and says abruptly, "Come along then. Dinner's waiting."

 

  
_as if the two were the same thing -_   


 

The Northern Duke arrives on a sled driven by twelve wolves, each one as white as the thick layer of snow they bound through to get to Charles' doorstep. Charles says, "Back," as Erik drifts forwards, but Erik only ignores him to throw the front door open. There's a protection spell around the house: the Duke breaks through with a shimmering pop, and by the time he steps onto the ground, shaking his heavy coat around him, Charles has managed to position himself a few steps in front of Erik.

"My friend," Charles calls out, as clearly as he can. The Duke only smiles, his teeth white against his dark skin, and his gaze shifts almost immediately behind Charles, who takes a step back, bumping against Erik's chest. Erik does not move.

"So you managed to do it, after all."

"Would you like a cup of tea," Charles says.

The Duke says, over hot tea that's quickly replaced with bourbon, "The Southwest has fallen."

"That's - it's supposed to be impenetrable, especially in winter." Erik has retreated upstairs; the Duke's eyes keep getting drawn towards the staircase, but Charles refuses to call Erik down.

"Shaw has resources." He stretches out his arm, and Charles pours him another drink. Another night, the house empty save for the two of them, one glass would bleed into another and they would tumble up to Charles' bedroom before dawn. Now though, the Duke only says, "He has the power of the unicorns behind him."

"All but the one."

"Yes," the Duke says, and his shift in demeanor is almost imperceptible, but Charles has known him for years. "We only need the one. A horn, right through -" He taps the center of his chest.

Charles glances upwards, but there's no movement, no shift in the air. "But if we - if I can, if we turn him back. Shaw will come for him."

"Then we should probably be quick."

"And what happens to the unicorn."

The Duke only shakes his head.

"I see," Charles says. He puts his glass down and pinches the bridge of his nose, considers the end of the war versus the end of the last unicorn that exists free of Shaw's grasp. "His name is Erik," he tells the Duke, finally.

"What?"

"That's his name. It's Erik."

"I see. So the answer is no, then."

Charles exhales quietly. "I am sorry."

The Duke casts his eyes towards the drink in his hand, takes a wordless sip, and he has always been immeasurably kind, but Charles is aware that it extends only so far.

He refuses to stay the night. Charles kisses him on both cheeks, and the Duke murmurs, "You should reconsider."

"There's nothing to reconsider."

"We could free the rest. He might think it a sacrifice worth making."

Charles draws a deep breath, his hand caught on the Duke's coat. "I cannot."

The Duke looks thoughtful, his hand pressed over Charles', but finally he says, "I won't force your hand, Charles. But if Shaw approaches North -"

"I understand," Charles says, and kisses him again, on the lips this time. It tastes like farewell.

-

There is a woman who owns a bookshop in the nearby town. Charles visits her sometimes, under the pretext of searching for a book. Her smile is always bright and welcoming, as is her bed. This time around, he lies in a bath she has drawn for him, water to his chest, as she sits in a bathrobe on a chair and dries her hair, towel wrapped around her bare waist. "Are you all right, Charles," she asks, her voice quiet and worried.

"I'm quite fine, Moira," Charles says, staring up at the ceiling. "Does it seem as if I'm not?"

"You seem. Different. What's troubling you?"

"A unicorn," Charles says, and smiles faintly.

"A unicorn? Aren't they all dead?" Her thin shoulders are shaking. "The war approaches."

"Not dead, merely trapped. And yes, it does." Moira will raise an army, for all that she is merely human. They will all die, of course, if they do not stop Shaw before he reaches this place. "Have you ever seen one?"

"No, I can't say as I have," Moira says, gazing into the distance. "I'm told that they're exquisite. That they blind you, and you're irrevocably changed." She shakes herself and picks up a comb. "I don't suppose I want to meet one, to be honest. Nothing would ever measure up again."

Charles rises from the tub and grabs the nearest towel. He walks over to her and kisses her on the forehead, murmurs, "That is possibly true."

Her smile is only faintly bitter as Charles starts dressing himself. "I do hope you visit again. Perhaps when your mind is not so occupied with someone else."

-

When he returns home his bones are aching, quiet and heavy. He cuts bread in the kitchen, starts to prepare dinner.

Erik enters from the living room and he halts, and his head tilts. "Where," he asks, voice flat with contempt.

"Out. Would you like a sandwich, Erik."

Erik shakes his head. His breath quickens and his nostrils flare, and Charles feels the flush rise from underneath his shirt up to his face. "Impure," he mutters, his upper lip curling.

"Yes, well, we can't all be symbols of the light." Charles slams down his bread knife. "There is nothing inherently immoral about seeking comfort in the arms of someone else. Our bodies are made to seek out touch. Surely even your kind can understand that." He shoves the bread back into its basket, not hungry anymore.

"Without love," Erik says.

"Love." Charles has to laugh, and he can't look at Erik's face. "What do you know about love."

There is no response, and when Charles turns towards the door he is gone.

-

He wakes up the next morning and snow has blanketed the house. A gift from the Snow Queen. Protection, until she arrives. He finds Erik, battering against the door, determined to get out. "It's no use, Erik. You will die before you manage five steps."

Erik's eyes are wild, and furious, but Charles merely steps into the kitchen and starts to prepare breakfast, and eventually Erik slinks in and sits himself down, his head bowed even if his spine will not. "Cold," he says. Charles hands him a cup of hot chocolate. He wraps his hands around it without lifting it to his mouth.

"It's for your own protection. And no, I am not responsible." When Erik's head snaps up he adds, "And as such I cannot undo it."

"Useless," Erik mutters, shoving the cup at Charles. Charles catches it as it falls, stills the arc of scalding liquid and reverses it back into the cup. Erik looks near tears, if that's possible at all. Surely the last unicorn wouldn't weep over being unable to walk outside, freezing and stumbling on clumsy feet. Charles pushes the cup back at him, and this time Erik puts it to his lips, drinks.

"It will clear up," he says finally. "When she comes. We will just have to make do until then."

 

  
_\- a kind of offering_   


 

Charles spends his afternoons in the library, most days, when Erik is out wandering the woods. But Erik is trapped now, and he finds Charles curled up on his seat with a book in his hands. "Come in," Charles says, as Erik stands hesitantly at the open doorway, face frowning and unsure.

Charles shifts closer to the side as Erik moves to sit down next to him. "Books," he says, his long fingers skating curiously on a thick page darkened with age and heavy with words.

"Yes," Charles says. "Do you want - I could read to you if you'd like." He expects Erik to say no, but when Erik only nods his head something warm blossoms in Charles' heart, as strong as a fist.

"Now?"

"Right, yes. Sorry." He clears his throat and returns to the book, flips the page to the front so he can start over.

"Boring," Erik says, after a while, but he seems content to sit there nonetheless, feet neatly tucked under him, eyes half-closed and expression soft.

"You sound like my sister," Charles says, and perhaps he shouldn't have sent Raven out into the world, should have kept her here, safe and sound and less inclined to pass judgement. Still, she sends him letters that assure him that the Red King treats her generously and with respect, and that she remains madly in love.

"Boring," Erik says again. "Must we?"

"No. But you might learn something, given enough time." Charles closes the book and moves slightly closer. Erik leans sideways and rests his head against Charles' shoulder. "Or perhaps not. You shouldn't have to change. Not for me."

"For you?"

"We could just retire for the night."

"No," Erik says. He takes the book from Charles' hand and opens it before passing it back to him. "Books. About us?"

"No, no books about unicorns, I'm afraid." Charles has hid them all; to a fault, every single book he has about unicorns is about their suffering at human hands.

-

The days drag on, with Erik's unhappiness a dark cloud that perpetually hovers, and Charles becoming increasingly impatient with him, as much as he tries not to be. "Surely my company cannot be that undesirable," he snaps one afternoon, as Erik sulks in front of the hearth, the fire rising high and hot.

"No," Erik says, his voice low. His hair falls over his forehead as he lowers his head, and Charles reaches out unthinkingly, brushes it back. Erik stills. His hand shoots out and grabs Charles' wrist, holds him there.

"I'm sorry," Charles says. "I didn't mean to."

"No." Erik lowers his head again, but this time he presses Charles' fingers to his face. "Touch," he says. "Please."

Charles sinks to his knees and palms Erik's jaw as carefully as he can. Erik's skin is smooth and unblemished, perfect when Charles runs his thumb across his cheekbone. Erik exhales quietly. "I thought you didn't," Charles says.

"But - need. Touch."

"Ah," Charles says, and releases him.

"Touch," Erik says, and it must be difficult for him to say those words again, he refuses to look up and his body is tight and unyielding.

"I don't think so, Erik," Charles says, and he feels so tired.

"Please," and when Charles moves to stand up Erik grabs him again, both his wrists this time. "I need - we always. We touch. We always touch. And they're gone." He puts a hand, tentatively, on Charles' chest, and shudders. "Please."

"No," Charles says, but they're just words. He's always been weak, always been less than pure. Not pure enough for this, surely. "I cannot," and even now he's inching closer, tilting Erik's head up and cupping his neck with his hand.

"Please."

In the end, all he does is take Erik's hand and lead him upstairs, into his bedroom. Erik sits on the bed and fumbles with his clothes as Charles asks, "Do you even know?"

"Yes." Erik nods his head and slides the last of his clothing off. "Touch."

Charles leans down and kisses the scar in the middle of his forehead, says, "Touch." He's shaking. Every part of him is shaking and he cannot breathe. "I can touch you, if that's what you want."

"More."

"Yes." On the bed, he lays Erik down and kisses his forehead again, his cheeks, his nose, his jaw, and finally his lips. Erik shakes against him, his hands fisted in Charles' shirt. Charles moves away from his face and trails his lips across the rest of his body, light and chaste, reverent across every part of him. He closes his eyes when Charles reaches his belly and turns his face into the pillow. "Are you okay," Charles asks, lifting his head. "Erik." Erik only whimpers, and he's so beautiful it's impossible to bear, impossible to take. "Are you -"

"Stop," Erik says, voice harsh and hard.

Charles pulls away as if he's burning, no of course not, Erik wouldn't, but Erik grabs him and draws him back in. "No. No words."

Charles places a kiss on his shoulder and nods his head against Erik's skin. "No words, I promise." He slides down to where Erik is hard and hot and he doesn't ask when he wraps his fingers around him, not even when Erik jerks and twists his fingers into the sheets. Charles finds a rhythm, slow and steady, watches as Erik moans in response. He waits until he knows Erik is close before he lowers his head and swallows him, and Erik finishes with a hoarse cry - he tastes like light, Charles thinks dizzily, as he pulls away and licks at his lips. Like everything perfect and pure and untouched. Charles crawls up Erik's body once again and hugs him tight, kisses at his temple as he continues to tremble quietly, until he finally stills.

-

In the morning, Erik is gone. Charles wanders downstairs and he is in the kitchen, his elbows propped on the table. "Breakfast," he asks hopefully, when Charles steps towards the pantry.

"In a minute." Charles slides a hand around his nape and Erik tilts his head back, up towards him, a blush faint across his cheeks. "We shouldn't have," Charles says. "I will not. Not again."

"Why," Erik asks, his brow furrowing.

"Surely you can't - Erik, remember what you are."

Erik shrugs away. "Gone," he mutters fitfully. "All gone. Only me."

"But that is no reason. I refuse to be convenient because you are lonely."

"Lonely," Erik says, touching Charles' hand. He buries his face against Charles' chest, and after a while Charles loops his own arms around his back.

"Yes. But -" The rest of his words are lost, swallowed by the feel of Erik's heart pounding against his skin.

-

The Snow Queen shows up in the depths of winter, breaking her own spell, allowing the sun to shine down long enough so she can carve a path to their doorstep. Icy blond coolness and when she sweeps into the hallway she stops in the middle and lifts her head to breathe in the air. Erik's on the staircase, halted halfway down. The Queen tilts her head at him before she floats up, stopping two stairs beneath him. Her voice, when she finally speaks, is awed. "What did you do, Charles."

"I should think that would be obvious." Charles bristles. "What you told me to do."

"No." The Queen sniffs once again, and when Erik tries to scramble back up she extends one slim hand and touches his wrist lightly. Erik freezes, eyes wide in shock. "What did you do, Charles."

"Let him go first," Charles snaps. He extends his own hand, palm forward, but doesn't push, not just yet.

"What did you do, Charles."

"Nothing," Charles says, hot and ashamed. He climbs up the stairs and puts his hand on Erik's arm, releases him. Erik staggers and blinks, and leans into Charles.

The Queen exhales, quietly. "I see. Well then."

-

"You've killed us all," the Queen says afterwards.

"I don't see what that has to do with anything." They're sitting at the kitchen table, the Queen declining dinner in favor of wine and Erik picking at his food, studiously ignoring her.

"We had one hope left. The last symbol of purity to save us all from the darkness." She sips at her wine glass before tipping it in Charles' direction. "And now we have nothing."

"That," Charles says, "Was never an option in the first place. So I fail to see how it matters."

When Erik decides to leave, disappearing upstairs in the usual manner that implies he's simply done with company, Charles says, "You were the one that snowed us in. It became - difficult."

"You are the more powerful witch, Charles," the Queen says.

"I need to reserve my strength. The spell you cast was strong."

"Ah, yes," she says, and asks for another glass of wine.

-

At night, while the Snow Queen sleeps, he slips into Erik's bed, and afterwards, when they're wrapped around each other and Charles is sweat-slick and sated, Erik mumbles, "I will go."

"No," Charles says, his mouth brushing across Erik's temple. "You won't. You will not die."

"Save them all."

"No," Charles says, and something in his chest constricts, turns hard and cold and threatens to break as if the Snow Queen herself had reached in and squeezed, made it into ice. "We will find another way."

"How?"

Charles does not have an answer for him, so he plants a kiss on his cheek and pulls him close. He falls asleep with Erik's head on his chest, but when he wakes up early the next morning and reaches out no-one's there. The house is ice-cold, and she wasn't polite enough to even leave a note.

 

  
_volitionless, from different heights -_   


 

The Northern Duke's boy arrives to fetch him. His eyes are red and his pale cheeks are splotchy with tears. He tells Charles, "The Duke is on the front, he sends a message: The North has fallen and the Snow Queen has betrayed us."

Charles grabs the boy's chin and says, "Take me there."

"You don't understand," the boy says, wrenching himself away. He is so very young. "I'm supposed to take you South, where the battle -"

"You take me there," Charles says, drawing his coat around his body.

"Most likely he's already dead," the boy says, sniffling as he makes room for Charles on the sled.

Charles takes off his gloves and puts his hands to the boy's face: his blue eyes go blank for the briefest of moments before he returns, calmer and with more focus. "No more crying," he says. Charles turns to his rapidly disappearing home as the sled cuts across the snow. "He's not dead. I would feel it if he were."

-

The battle is still raging, even though they have already lost, here at least. Bodies and blood and the acrid scent of discharged magic in the air. The Duke's boy says, "There is word they are deep within the mountain. I can bring you halfway, but I must return to the Duke."

"I understand," Charles says. He gets off the sled, and it is only through luck and magic, mostly luck, that he makes it though the battlefield unscathed. The entrance into the mountain, the boy had told him, is impossible to breach, but Charles mutters spell under his breath and a faint blue outline carves itself in the mountain face, barely enough for a man of his stature to enter. It is too near the edge of the cliff, and he almost falls into the ocean before he steadies himself and squeezes through. The passage is dark, but he fumbles along and eventually the space widens into a cave, lit with the faintest of flickering lights.

It is said that Shaw trapped all the unicorns to plunge the land in darkness and despair; to turn good magic weak and dark magic stronger.

It is said that only the one unicorn escaped, and that he is the only one that can kill Shaw and end the darkness.

It is said that if he dies, when he dies, because his death is inevitable, all hope in the land will be lost.

Charles cares little for the land, or the light.

Erik is on his knees, Shaw's hand gripped into his hair. Charles spares a glance for the Snow Queen, whose lips quirk up slightly at him before she turns and disappears, no doubt to destroy what's left of whoever is left standing in opposition.

"Ah, Charles," Shaw says, and Charles has never met him before, this monster of a man that has killed so many. "What a pleasant surprise."

"Release him," Charles says.

"Well, that's not really possible, is it. I need him to win my war."

"Not like this. He's of no use to you like this."

"Which is why I need you, my dear boy." His face breaks out into a smile. "The spell-caster, I am informed, is the only one that can break the spell."

"Why would I do that? So you can trap him with his brothers and sisters?" Charles focuses his gaze on Erik. "Erik, are you hurt?"

Shaw tugs on Erik's hair and jerks him upwards. There's a knife in his hand, it gleams silver as it settles under Erik's throat. "He is fine, now. Break the spell, witch. Or he dies."

"I break the spell and everyone dies," Charles says. His voice sounds strong to his own ears; it's a surprise.

"But he will live. As for everyone else - " Shaw shrugs, and his hand twitches. Erik gasps as a thin line of red slides down his skin. "Decide."

"Don't -"

Shaw smiles once again. "Of course, this should be interesting. My darling Queen has been telling me tales. You have been very bad, Charles. How do you think this will affect the balance?"

"I don't know," Charles replies honestly.

"Decide."

It is not a hard decision to make, in the end. Or not a decision at all. Charles opens his mouth and the earth shifts beneath his feet, and the power flows through him, and he stumbles as the spell shatters.

Shaw rubs the unicorn's nose, muttering reassurances to him under his breath. "They are magnificent, aren't they," he says idly. "And so meek. Even as I led all of them into the sea, not a single one struggled against me."

They say a unicorn, even when faced with certain death, will never harm another being.

Creatures of pure, undiluted light.

Except of course, for this one.

The unicorn rears back and lowers its head, charges forward once again. Shaw screams, loud and agonized, grasping at the horn embedded in his chest with slippery, blood-soaked hands. Charles moves towards them on unstable feet, and by the time he reaches them there's no more screaming, just the sound of a man quietly dying. The unicorn steps back, and Shaw's body falls lifelessly to the ground.

"Erik," Charles says. He reaches out and it shakes itself before it noses at Charles, allows him to rest his face against its majestic head.

-

There is no sound, it is said, more breathtaking than the thundering of a unicorn galloping across the land. If you are lucky, you might glimpse one once in your lifetime, just that. Charles casts another spell as the mountain crumbles around them, protects them both under an impenetrable shield. He leads Erik into the sun, down to the beach where the unicorns are emerging from the ocean, unimaginable in their beauty.

Charles puts his hand to his face and it comes away wet. He buries himself once again in Erik's flank, breathes in the scent of him. "Don't go," he whispers. "I cannot bear to be without you."

He could cast another spell, bind Erik to him forever.

He could -

Charles steps back and shakily wipes the tears away, jerking his head in the direction of the ocean, where the unicorns are still surfacing. "Go on," he says. "Go." Erik hesitates, for the longest of moments, but finally he turns to leave. Charles closes his eyes, and when he opens them again there is nothing but the ocean, calm and relentless, and the beating of Charles' own unsteady heart.

-

The Duke comes for him eventually, rides up on his steed and pulls Charles up behind him. "We have the Snow Queen," he says. "Our fortunes turn."

Charles nods his head, wraps his cloak more securely around himself.

"Time heals," the Duke tells him, as they start to make their way back home.

"Yes," Charles responds. "So they say."

 

  
_\- and in the one direction_   


  


**Author's Note:**

> Title and subheadings taken from "[Porcelain](http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/20596)" by Carl Phillips.
> 
> Thanks so much to A. for the beta and the handholding - we did it at my home and while at a beach resort chalet. MTV and ice-cream might have been involved. It was a blast.


End file.
